


In The Truly Gruesome Do We Trust...

by LetMeBeBrave



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: (dammit nicolas), Armand is like 25, Bianca could kill you with her pinkie, Daniel is a badass, Denis (my son) is also a badass, Gabrielle smokes, Intoxication, Lestat is pining over several people, Louis gets drunk on multiple occasions, M/M, Mafia AU, Marius is a good tired husband who just wants some wine, Mentions of gunshots, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Nicki gets kidnapped, Nicki wants to get drunk, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POVs change in each chapter, Violence, and is Very trigger-happy, and is still a massive flirt, grieving character, it'll make sense later, mentions of vomit, so thats normal, sybelle and benji are younger, they're all human in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeBeBrave/pseuds/LetMeBeBrave
Summary: Lestat was the heir of the most dangerous Mafia family in France. Getting ambushed comes with the territory.Louis was born into a family of Hit Men, constantly ready for anything that could be thrown at him. Until he lost his brother.Nicolas was the best undercover agent in his organization, and he just needs a break, dammit.





	1. Tueur de loups

**Author's Note:**

> So! I have returned.  
> And I come bearing Gay Vampires. ...In an AU where they're human, because Why not? 
> 
> This is sO self indulgent, but Mafia AUs are my shit man, and I needed to write this.  
> And share it with all y'all, for reasons. 
> 
> This chapter is more of a Prologue, and is the most Canon Compliant out of all of them, taking place right after the Wolf incident in TVL. It's the shortest chapter as well, they end up being much longer after this one. 
> 
> So, Warnings for this chapter are: 
> 
> Lestat almost goes into shock.  
> Vomit is mentioned.  
> Gunshots are mentioned, as is blood, but nothing graphic. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, there is some French in this Chapter, (Forgive me if it isn't correct!)  
> Translations will be in the end notes.

 

 

  
  
  
_“_ _Pay no mind to them, Lestat.”_ _She had stated._  
__  
  
His ears were ringing.  
  
  
_“_ _Amateur attempts to taunt us.” She had taken a drag from her cigarette._  
  
  
He was walking. Icy snow breaking under his feet. How long had he been trudging back to the Mansion? Minutes? Hours, could have been days for all he knew...  
  
  
_“_ _Five, Lestat. Five people could not harm us if they tried.” Ash was tapped into it's crystal bed. “Let it rest, my Son.”_  
  
  
He should have been shaking. Why wasn't he shaking... He could feel the tremors waiting in his muscles...Why weren't they coming?  
  
  
_“You are not a_ _garde du corps, Lestat.” A snarl had risen from Augustin._  
  
  
Maybe it was because his body was caught between going into shock, or going into overdrive.  
  
  
_“_ _Go to the Kennels,” A plume of smoke was blown from between_ _Gabrielle's_ _lips. “Clear your head.”_  
  
  
  
  
He kept falling. Maybe it was the cold getting to his legs, as they were only clad in his suit pants, torn from pocket knives and stained with his own blood as they now were.  
Maybe it was the fact that snow had gotten into his Loafers, and he couldn't feel his feet.  
Maybe it was due to the Man slung over his shoulders.  
  
Sounds of gunshots were still echoing in his ears.  
Where had he dropped his pistol... _When_ had he dropped it?  
_Think, Lestat. Dammit..._  
Was it...In the heat of the fight, When he was fending off multiple attackers?  
...Or after, when he stood alone in the wake of his carnage, shaking, with his breath rattling in his chest, staring bleary eyed at the _Eight_ men laying around him?  
When he dropped his knife, stumbled to the tree next to him, and was too weak to keep himself from vomiting?  
...Yes, it was most likely then.  
  
  
... _Eight,_ he thought to himself.  
_Eight. Not five. And I..._ He staggered, almost losing his footing again. His stomach churned, and he felt bile rising in his throat, but he clenched his jaw, he fought it back down. His temples throbbed, but he ground his teeth despite it.  
_You are not green. This is not your first kill, not your first time being ambushed, pull yourself Together._  
  
He was growing numb. Mentally and physically, even tho he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the wind beating against his sweat covered face, the ice that sliced into his ankles as he made his own path through the snow.  
  
...Was he still Lestat when he reached the Mansion?  
When he dragged himself, vision blurring with exhaustion, through the halls?  
When he ignored his bodyguards, their words jumbled in his ears, not making it to his brain.  
  
Was he still Lestat when he pushed open the doors of the _La Lionne's_ study, letting the man on his shoulders drop to the ground?  
When he stared ahead at the silhouette that stood with it's back to him, in front of floor to ceiling windows?  
  
At the sickening sound of dead weight hitting the hardwood floor, _La Lionne_ did not move.  
Gabrielle's hands were in her pockets, and they remained there, her posture did not change.  
At the frantic sound of her son's breath struggling to get out of his lungs, she stirred only slightly.  
  
It was only at the sound of her son trying to speak, hearing the choked noise he managed to push out, that She turned from the windows behind her immense desk.  
  
Her golden hair was cut short and gelled back, The lines of her suit so sharp she could slit throats with them.  
  
The lone thing to betray her aura of indifference was her Grey eyes widening, taking in the _Horrible_ portrait her son made, standing in the doorway as his chest heaved up and down.  
  
He knew how he looked, knew that he was a demented caricature of himself. His once pristine fur-lined coat torn, one sleeve missing entirely. Waves of his platinum hair, which was Always kept neat, Was starting to become matted. Strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, with blood that may or may not have belonged to him.  
  
  
“Eight.” He managed to croak out, his voice raw, but dull, flat...not his own...  
He had no more energy for which to cry, to tremble.  
He felt the words leaving his mouth, and they felt foreign.  
“Eight, in the forest. They struck like dogs...All at once, savage...And they're all dead...” His last words had more breath behind them than voice, there was horror winding itself around his vocal chords like a snake, strangling him.  
  
  
It was then that Gabrielle moved with dangerous grace, passed her desk, and over the obstacle on the floor, to stand in front of her son.  
She took his face into her hands, and stared into the eyes that were starting to become clouded, exhaustion overtaking him.  
“...My brave _Tueur de loups_...”  
  
_..._ _No. He was no longer Lestat._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it!  
> Writing for Sad, traumatized Lestat is more fun than it should be, honestly. 
> 
> Translations for the French: (which i Hope are correct!)
> 
> garde du corps - Bodyguard. 
> 
> La Lionne - The Lioness. 
> 
> Tueur de loups - Wolfkiller/Slayer Of Wolves. 
> 
> I have several more chapters of this already written, and I'm always working on it, so let me know if any of you would like more! 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you have a Wonderful day!


	2. Don't Go Where I Can't Follow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have a Longer chapter that takes place a few years After the Wolf incident in the previous chapter, told from the Drunk, Mourning PoV of Louis.  
> (Featuring a cameo at the end that Louis isnt terribly thrilled about.)
> 
> Basically all ya need to know is in that sentence, our darling Louis aint exactly in the best shape right now.  
> And there is more French in this chapter, because why not?  
> Translations will again be in the end notes. 
> 
> And without further ado, Please enjoy!

  
  
  
He threw the drink back.  
Which number was this? Three? Or was it four...  
Not hardly enough, that was the answer, as he signaled the bartender for another.  
The whiskey burned his throat. But at least the burn was enough to mask the guilt in his stomach, if only for a few hours at a time.  
  
Guilt...the damned Guilt. It sat in the pit of his stomach, like a rock, weighing him down. It made getting out of bed a struggle each day, getting out of chairs harder than it should have been.  
It coated his limbs, made them heavy and sluggish, made his muscles weak, exhausted, like he had run a marathon. It was printed on the insides of his eyelids, in the images that danced behind them whenever his eyes were closed for too long, when he let his mind wander too far afield. It induced the dreams that had him waking up each night, gasping with violent sobs.  
  
No one's soothing words helped ease said guilt from his conscience...Not the tender ones from his mother, or his sister...The honest, but still somewhat empty condolences from his Coworkers...they did nothing to fix how hollow he felt. And he knew they were trying their best, he could see it on their faces. They were worried about him, the worry grew each day, and he appreciated the concern. But the one thing he needed, the one thing that could make everything better... the one voice he so longed to hear...Was the one impossible option.  
  
He needed to hear _His_ voice. Needed to hear his laugh, to see him smile. See his eyes glow...  
He needed Paul to be by his side again. To be safe, to be home again...to be alive.  
His beloved brother, his best friend. The person who Truly understood him, no matter how vastly different they were.  
Paul had never wanted to be a part of the family business...it wasn't a secret. He was a wayward spirit...A pacifist. Born into a family of hit-men. And Louis knew he hated it, going on missions made him feel nauseated, reading over the files endlessly conflicted him, not to mention being forced to sit through planning meetings.  
  
_“You were born with a Drive for this life...”_ He would say to Louis, on nights where neither of them could sleep, so they would sit in the living room with cups of coffee until the sun rose. They would talk about nonsensical things, making each other laugh, forgetting about the dangers they faced on the day to day.  
  
During a stakeout, he would occasionally come out with, _“_ _I wasn't_ _meant for this lifestyle, Louis_ _. I've no passion for it._ _I'm not like you..._ _”_ his head resting against the glass of their van's window, his voice holding a melancholy quality that was beyond his years. But that was Paul...Wise beyond his time. He would sigh and shake his head as Louis clumsily tried to change the subject.  
But he never argued, and simply went along with whatever Louis chose to talk about next. He knew those kinds of conversations made Louis uncomfortable.  
But a longing was always present in his eyes...a longing for a life of exploration. _Something better than this..._  
  
It always scared him when Paul spoke like that...It wasn't easy to leave their line of work. And not many people...Lasted long, when they did succeed. His brother meant too much to him, he couldn't let him think about leaving...about going somewhere Louis couldn't protect him.  
...Somewhere he couldn't follow...  
  
  
“No.” He rasped out, voice startling even himself. His face fell against his arm, which was supporting his weight on the bar.  
His eyes closed tightly, he shook his head.  
He realized now, all too late, that keeping Paul in his job, ignoring him when he tried to talk about leaving, and nearly Screaming at him once or twice, was _Not_ protecting him.  
_Go figure..._  
  
He could have prevented this situation...  
Louis could have gone with the strike team. Then Paul wouldn't have felt the need to be Brave, the idiot...wouldn't have taken Louis' place without telling him...Paul would still be alive.  
He could have visited Italy like he had always wanted to. Louis recalled him going on and on about Venice, about the Art, _“Louis, you wouldn't believe how Old some of those pieces are!”_ He always sounded like a giddy child...  
He could have toured Cathedrals, the ones he spent hours researching, when he should have been purchasing Plane Tickets for a mission.  
And he probably would have dragged Louis along with him...But he wouldn't have minded.  
Because he loved seeing his brother happy...  
  
  
Louis tightened his grip on his glass as he came crashing back to reality with a harsh laugh. He wouldn't get to see that smile again.  
Wouldn't get to hear his excited ramblings, his radical ideas...  
The twisting of the guilt was back, and he made up his mind that he was _Far, Far too sober._  
He threw the rest of his drink back in a large gulp, and his throat hurt when he swallowed, but any sensation was better than the one trying to drown him.  
  
His forehead fell back to his arm, and with his free hand, he signaled again to the bartender.  
_It's a wonder he hasn't_ _cut me off yet_ _..._ Louis thought to himself. But he supposed the man had some sympathy for his situation.  
( _Tho, he most likely assumed that it was relationship trouble that was driving Louis to drink, not the untimely assassination of his brother. ...But ya know, it's the thought that counts.)_  
Louis had spoken maybe Three times in the few hours he had been there, one of those times had been when he sat down at the counter, looked at the bartender with an exhaustion ridden expression, and stated, _“Don't ask, just pour.”_ and the man responded with an understanding nod as he complied.  
  
And as he heard the lovely sound of his glass being refilled, which had become the background noise of his inner monologue of self pity, he was interrupted. By a deep, musical chuckle.  
Zoned out and well on his way to being hammered, he still managed to pinpoint where the owner of that laugh was standing. Perk of being raised around Mob types, he guessed.  
  
They were behind him, just a few steps, and towards his right side.  
If he had been more put together, or just really had any more fucks to give, he probably would have been put on edge by the fact that he didn't recognize the voice. Normally, he was a very paranoid person.  
But at this point, he hadn't the energy to worry about that. So, he chose to ignore it.  
  
Footsteps were the next thing he heard, a few strides and they stopped, next to him now. A creak in the bar, _oh joy,_ this special someone was leaning against it.  
“...You _know,”_ Came the velvety, slightly accented voice from his visitor. “Drinking alone is a Terrible habit.” The way this man spoke, with an air of cockiness to his tone, like he thought he was All That and more, it was so...So... _So fucking French._  
  
“Would you mind if I joined you??” The man prodded again after Louis skillfully ignored him, and he thought he heard him slide a little closer.  
  
It was at this moment that Louis picked his head up, and _Wow_ , was the room spinning when he got there?? _Ah,_ Never mind that, he had _D'Artagnan_ here to deal with. As the spinning came to a halt, he turned to the right, his head lolled off to the side, neck not having any of this nonsense, but he could see his unwelcome guest clear enough.  
His Silver eyes, that almost appeared violet under the lights. Those eyes that were watching him with an almost Predatory quality. _Again, oh Joy._  
The high cheekbones, the pale, almost flawless skin.  
_How rude of hi_ _m, did he even Have pores?_  
The platinum hair that cascaded in waves down to his shoulders.  
The leather jacket he wore, over the...what was that, a _Bon Jovi_ shirt?? Sure, okay, he looked like he'd be at home in the 80s.  
  
…Look, He wasn't going to lie to himself, he was too wasted for that. The guy was hot, like really, Really hot. But there was No way in _Hell_ Louis was putting up with the Ego that basically sat on the guy's head like a crown.  
So, he picked up his drink, and watched the blonde eyebrows raise in anticipation of his answer, the guy pulled his plump bottom lip in between his teeth in a skilled attempt to lure Louis in. ...Nah.   
It was then that the thought came into his mind, the small whispered,  _Why not screw with his confidence a little?_ And in his foggy brain, that seemed like the Best idea he'd ever had.   
So, out came, “...Yeah. I would mind. Bye.” As he sipped his drink. And waited.   
  
And  _Boy,_ was he not disappointed.  
A blink. Then two. Then three. Had this guy Ever been turned down before? _He looks like a kicked puppy._  
It was amusing, seeing his brain malfunction, and Louis snickered into his glass, wondering just What was going on under that mass of conditioned hair.  
  
“... _Je suis désolé, quoi?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot...Kinda sorta thickens.  
> I hope you all liked this one, as well!  
> Between drunken Louis, and a cocky Lestat, this one was Insanely fun to write. 
> 
> Comments are Vastly appreciated, as are Kudos, I get so unbelievably happy when I see that people actually like this!  
> I again, have many more chapters, so there is a lot more content on it's way! 
> 
> And here we have a translation for Lestat's confused reply: 
> 
> ...Je suis désolé, quoi? - I'm sorry, what? 
> 
>  
> 
> Have a wonderful day, All.


	3. It's all fun and games until you get cockblocked by your hacker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!! Did this take too long to upload? Yes. Yes it did. 
> 
> Editing is a bitch. so much editing...too much
> 
> But nevertheless, Here we are! With another Lestat chapter this time.   
> Mostly a filler, with important plot points.   
> This one picks up where we left off the last time, with an interesting look into the Brat's chaotic thought process. 
> 
> again, translations for new words at the end, you know the drill.   
> Enjoy!

  
  
He was blinking rapidly. _  
..._ _What?_ _Surely...Surely I heard him wrong._ Was the first option to spring to the forefront of Lestat's rapidly short-circuiting mind.  
His silver eyes shot down to his folded hands at the bar, his manicured nails pressed firmly against the glossy wood, before his gaze shot back to the Dark haired man at his side, trying to search for an answer in his...Deep emerald eyes...only to find nothing but walls. Endless barriers which sent Lestat recoiling back into his place, onto that terribly lonely bar-stool with that silken voice ringing aloud in his ears once more. _  
_ _“...Yeah. I would mind. Bye.”_ The words that meant outright refusal, that he clearly wasn't buying what Lestat was so Generously selling.   
_A terribly inconsiderate thing to do, honestly. I don't pursue just Anyone, you know._ It was so wholly unfair, he hadn't even been given a chance.   
_...Then again, I've always liked a challenge.  
  
_ So he inhaled deeply through his nose, lungs filling slowly, his golden eyebrows pressing together as he gathered his previously scattered focus. He lightly dragged his nails across the wood of the bar, eyes flickering over the Dark Haired man's face, over the expression that had manifested there, a combination of amusement and pride... And much to his own chagrin, Lestat found himself to be growing fond of the expression...how Dare he look that beautiful whilst being spiteful. He was a _tease_ , that smirk pulling at the corner of his perfectly sculpted mouth, just begging to be kissed away. But alas, another wall had been constructed to prevent such an action. _So frightfully rude, Cher..._  
Lestat had anticipated many reactions from the man, based off his many passed experiences in situations such as that one, but the answer that slipped so confidently from his mouth, in a voice _Much_ too sweet, Had been the one Lestat had neglected to prepare for. _  
_To put it lightly, he was confused. ...No, no, he was Far beyond confused.  
Baffled. Yes, he was absolutely _Baffled.  
_ And with good reason, in his _Not so humble opinion.  
_ _  
_Because you see, Lestat had infiltrated smuggling rings with mere looks, a flutter of his eyelashes and a timid bite into his bottom lip.  
Had toppled a cartel with that same pair of lips pressed to the flesh of an ear, murmuring threats as if they were the most passionate words to be exchanged between lovers.   
Had ruined an assassination plot by sleeping with a Kingpin, slitting his throat soundlessly in the night as a message to his men. And yet, this Hammered man in a bar, whom he had found wallowing in pity and sorrow, had rejected him. It wasn't adding up. Most people turned to putty in his masterful hands within a matter of minutes, so _why..._ Was he losing his touch?? Was that it??? What a horrifying thought...how would he get by?! ...Of course, he was more than just a pretty face, (But don't be mistaken, he was a _Very_ pretty face) having a lone skill is something you never survive long with.   
  
_...Maybe it's simply an...Off day._ Came the reasonable part of his mind, the one that he didn't often touch bases with. But it was a welcoming, _although disturbing,_ prospect. It did give him some hope, maybe he Would have a future! ...That is, until he came back to his senses.   
_Lestat, be sensible, you don't Have off days._...He was doomed.   
  
...No, wait, hang on, maybe not. He had charmed the bouncer at the door, not an hour before. And his waiter had most _definitely_ been checking him out, and of course, he responded in kind, and took pride in the soft flush that spread across the Young man's face.   
  
The knowledge that he was still Quite proficient in this particular skill served to mildly calm his steadily growing nerves. But if that was the case, then _Why...  
_  
He heard his nails tapping against the bar before he felt the rhythmic movements of his fingers, the thoughtful gesture accompanied by a tilt of his head, ringlets of hair softly shifting on his shoulder as he did so. His pointed gaze was still Firmly planted on the man beside him, who's Gem-like eyes had flicked briefly down to where Lestat's fingers were fidgeting on the lacquered surface, before moving back to return his jubilant gaze to the irritated Blonde at his side. And when he Did... _Shit.  
  
Who gave him the right to be so stunning? _It was as if he glowed... Many would tease Lestat about his flare for the dramatic, his constant need to over-exaggerate. But he swore that in the cloudy air around them, the man at his side was Indeed glowing. It was becoming terribly difficult to stay angered at the man, what, with the expression he held on his face, the one that said he knew _exactly_ what kind of torture he was putting Lestat through; With the fire that was tucked away deep in those expressive but guarded eyes, the way they burned bright, shined past the heavy locks of hair that were hanging down...And Lestat found himself longing to brush back the raven curls that tumbled down from the crown of his head, and dangled down into his vision...It seemed a crime to cover up even an inch of his face.  
  
There was something about the man that drew him in...Be it the aura of mystery around him, teasing at secrets locked away, just out of reach; Or possibly he had a natural pull, but Lestat wanted to _Learn.._. Learn about what caused the dark circles under his eyes... He yearned to see if he had scars, yearned to know of their origins... He desperately wished to learn the patterns of the freckles that dotted his skin, desired to see what shapes they formed...He would take his time with that, surely...He would read into them as if they were words on a page.   
_I want to take my time with him..._ It was at that moment, all of his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Like a car on a stretch of asphalt, tires smoking, rubber burning.   
  
_...Now is not the Time to drea_ _m about what you simply cannot have.  
_ Because Lestat knew _damn well_ that he could Not take his time with this man. There would be No conversations, the long, meaningless ones he silently craved. No time to unlock each and every one of his secrets. For the lone reason of the One rule he followed, the one he tried his damnedest to Live by. That he couldn't ever get attached to someone else.  
  
 _“_ _You must always be your own first priority,” His mother's words_ _echoed in the back of his mind_ _again, as if they had been spoken only a day_ _prior_ _, not countless years ago in his youth._   
  
Affection was the most dangerous poison to someone in his line of work, one that very easily clouded your vision, one that drove you to unimaginable lengths. It evoked something from deep within...and Lestat was especially susceptible.   
  
_“Disregard any longing for companionship. If your mind is not clear,_ _if your reflexes are sluggish,_ _you will be all but useless,_ _and you Will be taken out_ _.”_ _He recalled how his eyes had fallen from her stoic form as she turned her back to him, attention on_ _his brothers. He recalled the shaking breath that left his chest, the one he hadn't realized he was holding. In most vivid detail, he remembered how his eyes shot to his left, to the pair of Brown eyes that were staring back at him. He remembered feeling as if all of the air had been punched out of him upon seeing the emotion in those eyes, the Confusion, the desperation...The longing...All of which had been mirrored in his own_ _..._ _  
  
_ _ **No.**_ _  
_  
No, absolutely not. There was no need to bring _him_ into the equation. Not when he was face to face with the most enticing man he had seen in...possibly _Ever_. He had things to do, tasks to accomplish, a beautiful man to win over, there was no time to think about his Ex. _There never was..._  
  
  
All of these chaotic thoughts flooded his mind for what seemed like Hours upon hours, with the flurry of feelings that had attacked him in Record time. But in reality, it had been a short span of blissful silence. _Do something, you idiot._ He cleared his throat, the harsh sound breaching the still air in the bubble that seemed to surround them, locking out the dim, abrasive atmosphere of the rest of the bar.   
“ _..._ _Je suis désolé, quoi?_ _?”_ His voice felt thick leaving his throat. _  
  
_The man snickered into his whiskey, shaking his head as an eyebrow raised at the blonde, who was Well on his way to feeling insulted. Damn good thing he was pretty.  
“Wow. That was smooth, man.” He drawled mockingly, and _Shit_ _,_ his voice was an intoxicating mix of infuriating and enticing; his natural creole accent growing stronger due to the alcohol, and Lestat almost felt the urge to thank the Bartender. “Not used to being turned down, I'm guessing.”   
  
“Not at all.” Lestat scoffed with a slight shrug of his shoulders.   
  
“Well,” A throaty chuckle, another gulp from his glass with his head tipped back, _did he Know what he was doing,_ _exposing his throat like that._ _He must_ _ha_ _ve, every movement was calculated, far too...Teasing_ _._ “There's a first time for everything.”   
  
“Unfortunately.” Lestat found himself muttering under his breath.   
  
“Hm?”   
  
As an answer, Lestat slid closer to the dark haired man, their shoulders colliding. Emerald eyes stared at where they had made contact, before drifting back up to the Blonde's face, with a look of derisive amusement that dashed his hopes.   
“...'Bye' must mean something different in French, huh. Got some kinda Language barrier here, or...?”   
  
With a heavy sigh and a muttered expletive, Lestat's head fell against the Man's shoulder. “...You are Impossible, cher.” He whined, a pout making itself present.   
  
“...Okay, _First_ of all--” His _Ange noir_ started, not sounding terribly pleased by the endearment, but was rudely interrupted by the shrill buzzing of Lestat's phone.   
  
“Ah, hold that thought, Love.” Lestat said, pressing an index finger briefly to his current companion's lips as he dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, ignoring the daggers that were being glared at him, along with the way the man shoved his hand away.  
  
  
  
( **David** **)** **: t** **here's security on their way to your location  
**  
Which earned a frustrated groan, and rapid typing.   
With an added bonus of his companion subtly leaning over, attempting to get a look at the screen of Lestat's phone.  
 **  
** **(** **Lestat** **)** **: ...I'm Kind of in the middle of something.  
  
  
** **(** **David** **)** **:** _ **La Lionne**_ _ **'s**_ **orders, Lestat.  
  
** _...Oh._ **  
** **  
(** **David** **)** **: A message was found on your door.  
** _  
What??_ **  
** **  
(** **David** **)** **: It was Nicki's jacket, the red one. And uh...There's an X on the back.  
** _  
…_ _Oh_ _Fuck._  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's taken Nicki? Any guesses? 
> 
> well tUNE IN NEXT WEEK--
> 
>  
> 
> So there ya have it, Lestat being a smitten mess of a man. he's having way too many feelings, and has no idea how to handle them.  
> And yes, David the hacker. because why not.  
> Things start to come together in the next chapter, with more characters, and confusing motives. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations? Translations:
> 
> Ange noir - Dark Angel/Black Angel. 
> 
>  
> 
> Have a Wonderful day!!


	4. Daniel, the Devil's Hit-man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for something cOMPLETELY DIFFERENT
> 
> Featuring some insight into the Other side of things, and a POV change about Half-way through.   
> This one's on the shorter side, but the next one is chocked full, so y'all can look forward to that. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations and things at the end, have at it!!

  
  
Daniel wasn't ever sure how to classify the role he played at work.   
Sometimes, he was a hacker. A damn good one.   
And other times, he was a sniper. He wasn't half bad.   
On occasion, he dealt with organizing missions.   
And, every now and then, he was a Get Away driver.   
_Hey, Daniel Molloy, Jack of many trades and former_ _chauffeur_ _of Russia's current Mob boss, how can I help you?  
  
  
_ He quite liked being a Get Away driver. Liked the rush it gave him, Liked the comradery that was forged between him and his partner during the assignments. The trust they had to put in each other no matter what, the knowledge that if either of them slipped up, it could put the other in serious danger.  
...Alright, correction, he _Loved_ the rush. Some would say too much, but hey.   
  
Which was why, when he was told about his Boss' latest plan, he immediately volunteered. He hadn't exactly cared what role he would be put into, he had simply been still for  _Too long;_ he needed the Rush to come back.   
And That was how Daniel found himself sitting behind the wheel of an unassuming Sedan,  _with security measures that would alarm a SWAT Team,_ running on One hour of sleep and making due with the half carton of Cigarettes in the glove compartment. But to hell with the discomfort, with his heavy eyelids, because the  _Rush was back._  
 _  
_“Ugh,” Came the irritated voice from the Passenger seat, followed by the dull _thud_ of a forehead hitting the window.  
 _Ah yes_ , speaking of Partners...   
“Couldn't we have just taken the jet...” Denis whined, knees tucked up to his chest with his arms wrapped around his legs. “We'd be back by now... Plus, I wouldn't have been forced to listen to your Poor music selection.”   
  
“Okay, first of all, bad mouth _Van Halen_ again and you're walking back,”  
 _Kids these days._ _I'm 30, I can say that now._  
  
  
Daniel often found himself teamed up with Denis for away missions, as they were held in strong favor by their Administration's leader.   
They had the highest success rate, which was a feat in and of itself.   
  
One detail that contributed a great deal to their success, was their appearances.   
For you see, Daniel had a very unassuming look about him; With his short, unkempt blonde hair and thick glasses that didn't Quite fit right. No one would suspect that he was a skilled shot, not with the way he was constantly pushing the frames back up his nose.   
  
And Denis...Well, his advantage came in the form of his very Person, and his natural skill. He didn't look old enough to Drink, let alone fire a Gun.   
_Daniel had underestimated him Once when he was first introduced to their group...after three bruised ribs, he quickly learned his lesson._  
He could put such a look of innocence in his eyes, it was impossible to suspect him of anything. _That pure face couldn't do anything wrong..._ Ohh, if only their victims knew...  
His frame was slight, and he could move easily without being heard.   
Which was why, for tasks where Silence was key (like this one), he was the first choice.

  
He could play a traumatized teenager so well sometimes even Daniel felt bad for him, and he was in on the whole plan.   
  
  
“And _second of all,_ They would have expected that,” Daniel stated, fixing his glasses.   
At that point, the car ride had been 14 hours long, and they had already changed Vehicles three times. “Planes are quicker, stealthier. It would make sense that we'd be using the jet, so they'll be scanning the airways right now. I know, I've done it. Not hard to track down who you're looking for.” _Yet another reason why his success rate was so high._  
  
The answer seemed to be sufficient, as it earned a shrug and a nod from Denis, and a Scoff from their cargo in the back seat.   
_..._ _Right. Almost forgot about him. He's so quiet,_ Daniel thought to himself, glancing to the Rear-view mirror to get a look into the backseat.   
  
And there he sat, with a Black eye and mussed up chestnut brown hair, His head leaning back against the rest and his hands bound, looking more...Bored, than anything. “Sounds like you've got this Alllll down to a science...” Nicolas said with evident frustration, accent thick, but understandable.   
  
Ever since he had woken up in the back seat Two hours into their journey, save for the constant stream of swears that went on for a good 30 minutes, (Denis had timed him) he had been Remarkably calm about the whole Ordeal.   
Either this sort of thing happened to him Before, or he simply...Didn't care.   
_I'll take Brooding Musician for 200, Alex._  
  
Normally, people didn't have such a Nonchalant reaction to being abducted by two members of a Mob, _trust him, he knows.  
_ But Daniel got the feeling that this guy had lost the ability to be surprised a while ago.   
  
Just as Daniel had chuckled, and opened his mouth to speak, Denis let an irritated sigh hiss through his teeth, and shot an irritated look to Nicolas.   
“You _had_ to get him started on the Science of it all.” The younger man shook his head, eyes returning to his phone. He must have gotten it out while Daniel had been watching their guest, and the driver then returned his gaze to the road.   
  
He wasn't about to deny it, he _did_ in fact have the whole routine down to a science, and he was rather proud of that fact.   
(...He had a lot of free time on stakeouts, Okay? Waiting for Denis to figure out the, _“Perfect time to strike.”_ )

“Common, Denny,” Daniel drawled, with a smirk and a sharp elbow to Denis' ribs. _He could Feel the_ _resulting_ _glare._ “I never get to talk shop with anyone!” His eyes flicked back to the rear view mirror, adding with a smug tone, “And our dear Nicolas is interested, Isn't that right, Nick??”   
  
Nicolas' response came in the form of a long, frustrated groan, and Daniel thought he caught a muttered, _“Why me.”  
_ _Oh-Ho, double Jeopardy!_  
  
“Mm, well, You'll have to keep it down,” Was Denis' Stern reply, and Daniel heard fingers tapping against the phone screen.   
“It's time to check in with the Boss.” And with that, the phone was pressed to his ear.   
_Right_ , _he didn't like to be kept waiting._  
  
Daniel gave a nod, and turned the radio down, snickering upon hearing the soft Thumping of a head in the backseat that was repeatedly hitting the cushioned head rest.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“...I'm thinking...On the far wall.” A small frame leaned back against his Red Wood desk, gesturing with a slender hand to the wall in question. It was the only one in the Study which did not have a Portrait hung on it, simply a Velvet couch pushed up against it where his Mastiff often slept. Large brown eyes scanned the surface, mentally taking measurements. From where his Furniture was located, he would have a clear, unobstructed view of the Mural he was making preparations for.   
  
“I see...” Came the delicate voice from behind him, it's tone thoughtful. He could hear the chair at the desk swiveling, creaking softly as weight was shifted in it. “Is that because it's the one you think you're least likely to Shoot?”   
_..._ _You think you're so smart.  
_  
  
“...You _do_ realize that when you say things of that nature,” Armand looked over his shoulder, meeting the Icy blue eyes which were watching him with Such compassion from the plush Pine Green chair. “It makes me _Want_ to shoot the wall, Yes?? To prove you wrong.”  
Marius' pale features were in stark contrast with the colors that surrounded him, the dark brown accents of the chair made his hair look even lighter, the pigment of his eyes sharper. The red of his shirt practically glowed.

  
Musical laughter filled the room, and a gentle grin spread over the older man's features as he leaned forward, Legs dropping off the desk from where they had been propped up and draped one over the other. “Dearest, come closer, won't you?” And _damn_...How could he resist?   
  
When he watched Armand that way, regarding him as if he had hung the moon, as if it was He who made the sun shine bright every day... It was his weakness.   
  
He turned so that he was fully facing the desk, placing his hands on the surface as he flattened his palms against the varnished wood and pushed himself onto it, legs folding under him. He perched himself like a cat, hands placed in his lap with an eyebrow raised at the man in front of him, Somehow still keeping his expression blank.   
  
Within moments, Marius had leaned in close, their faces inches apart as a nimble hand brushed a stray lock of deep red hair away from his face, and that hand traveled down to his cheek, cupping it so tenderly, eyes taking in the younger man's face as if it was the first time.   
“Amadeo...” He all but purred.   
_Ohhh, you sly bastard...  
_  
“Beloved, If that is where you want the mural, that is where you shall have it. If you would like the whole Room turned into a mural, only ask, and I would do it without a single complaint...” The pause in his words was filled by a kiss, short and chaste, but Very much appreciated.  
“However,” There was a teasing tone to his voice.  
 _And not the Good kind, either.  
_ “When I paint your mural, I will request that you refrain from shooting it, my darling.”   
  
This pulled a smile from Armand.  
As well as a dramatic roll of his eyes and a sigh, followed with, “Such tasking things you request of me!” A dry chuckle, a hand to Marius' smooth cheek that mimicked his. “I can order a team of snipers with the snap of my fingers, I can make people Disappear without a trace,” His thumb stroked the soft skin of his cheek, started to trace the line of his cheekbone. “Men fall to their knees, quaking in fear when I enter a room...And yet, my Husband asks me Not to shoot a wall.”   
  
“...Yes. He does,” Marius stated in a smug tone, as he leaned in close yet again, their noses nearly touching. “If I am to spend weeks on a Piece, that is to be Flawless for the man I love, I would deeply appreciate it if Gunshots were not added.”   
  
_..._ _I suppose it's a fair request._  
“...Fine.” Was Armand's response, as his hand found it's way into his partner's hair, and he leaned forward, their lips brushing together.  
How long did they sit there, getting lost like they used to, simply holding each other?   
Not long enough, Armand decided, when the phone at his side gave a shrill ring.   
  
With a groan, and multiple muttered expletives, he forced himself away from the now Laughing man in front of him to pick up the Phone on it's second ring.   
“What.” His tone was clipped, impatient, and Marius rested his head on Armand's shoulder, expression amused. Armand felt a slender hand on his chest, placed over where his heart was, and the gesture was followed by a whispered, _“They mean well.”_ from the blonde man.   
  
“Strike team Alpha, Сэр,” Denis' voice came from the other end of the phone, controlled and not at all affected by Armand's greeting (if you could call it that). “We have him.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, writing the parallel between Coven Leader Armand and Mob Boss Armand was one of my biggest motivations for this entire Fic. Our dangerous little Russian. (Who's like 25 here...Petite Russian)  
> Plus, some happiness between Marius and Armand? It's my shit, man. 
> 
> And Kick ass Daniel? Theres gonna be so much more of him. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! It's one of my favorites so far.   
> And I want to thank everyone sO MUCH for reading this, I love you all, honestly 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations? Translations Ahoy: 
> 
> Сэр - Sir. (Pronounced the same way.)
> 
>  
> 
> Have a Wonderful day, All!! And stay tuned for more!


	5. “Nothin' good comes from nothin', Nothin' comes from nothin' good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bACK, With this beast of a chapter.  
> Which I've spent Three days editing. It's 2AM. And I've finally finished it. 
> 
> Did someone ask for a Nicki chapter? ...No? Well, that's what y'all are getting, whoops.  
> Lots of stuff happens here, not too much action, but a lot of plot and character development.  
> Plus, introducing three characters, and my self indulgent cameo of Sybelle and Benji. 
> 
>  
> 
> You all know the drill by now, translations down there, Enjoy!!  
> (ALSO. The name of this chapter comes from pretty much the only song I listened to whilst editing, "It Gonna Come" by Melody Gardot. Go listen to it, bless ya ears.)

...Well.  
Alright.  
This wasn't what Nicolas had been expecting when he'd woken up a few days prior, but hey, new things happened every day in his line of work. And years of training made sure that he would be ready for almost Anything.  
Getting ambushed on a stakeout? Child's play.  
Smoke bombs? He had ears for a reason.  
Getting lured in by a Sick, starving kid, who knocked him out with a kick to the chest and possibly the _Hardest_ punch he's ever received?  
  
...That uh...Okay, so he Hadn't been prepared for that one.  
(And his jaw was Still hurting, thanks so much for asking.)  
Sure, his sleep pattern had been messed up for months, and he was Wickedly hungover pretty much 24/7, but that was no excuse.  
  
He'd been Undercover after all, not to mention out of his Familiar territory, in Poland of all places; where one of their last shipments had gone Missing. And Nicki, being particularly gifted in the field of cover work, had been given this solo mission a month ago.  
Tho, despite the aforementioned... _Complications,_ not a moment went by that he wasn't listening for a cough that was too convenient, for the hasty sound of skittering footsteps when someone realized they weren't playing it safe enough.  
Not a moment went by that he wasn't scanning a room for someone just a little Too out of place, for an earpiece or a burner phone, for the unmistakeable shadows of a gun stowed away in someone's jacket.  
  
When one was practically Raised by _La Lionne,_ such things became second nature. And dammit, he was better than this!! ...But, evidently, so was that kid.  
  
_That Kid,_ who was currently in the Passenger seat of their Vehicle, his expression blank, and his deep set eyes looking Far too old for his boyish face. It was unsettling...  
However, they no longer held that Thousand yard stare that they had earlier when he played Nicki, with a wheezy cough and trembling hands, clammy skin and tattered clothing.  
_How did he Do it...?_ _He'd looked deathly ill, and now..._  
  
That light brown skin was perfectly dry, healthy and youthful, and snugly secured under an expensive looking dress shirt and coat that had no doubt been specifically tailored for him, what with how the sleeves were just the perfect length, and the complete lack of bunching fabric at the crook of his elbow, or down at his waist. _  
  
_ He was keeping up a conversation with their driver, the blonde bespectacled man, and the Kid's accent lacking voice held a maturity which betrayed his appearance, and matched that of his partner, as they expertly slipped into smooth Russian on certain words.  
Like he was a 30 Year old man in a Teenager's body, so much experience in his mind, _too much..._  
... _Was_ he even a teenager? Nicki couldn't be sure of anything at the moment.  
  
_..._ _Shit_ _, how did_ _I_ _let this happen?_ Was the thought that played Over and Over in his mind, and he groaned as his head fell back, staring up at the ceiling.

What a week...  
  
One minute he'd been walking to his Apartment, vaguely aware of someone tailing him. And the next, he was waking up in the back of a _BMW,_ to voices that were arguing over directions.  
And from the second he had fallen unconscious on the pavement, to the second he woke up to the sensation of a pounding headache and bound wrists, he had been thoroughly confused. Confused and furious, not exactly a fun combination.  
As he sat there, simmering in his seat, he was still reeling internally from his capture, Shocked by the skill of it, focusing too much on the technique as he attempted to stave off the real gravity of the situation he found himself in.  
  
No matter how much it pained him to admit, his Captors were startlingly good. It was with a lump growing in his throat that he gradually eased himself into accepting the fact that they were Far, Far too good to be two Hotshots who wanted some thrills and ransom money.  
He would be lying to himself if he denied this.  
More than having to just _Entertain_ the possibility of them being the hands of a larger operation, he had to cozy up to that idea.  
  
In reality, it wasn't hard to guess who had sent them, but having an answer didn't exactly make Nicki any more comfortable.  
It had been his own cowardly thoughts that prevented him from working it out sooner, his own tired brain just wishing for the easy way out for once in his life.  
But here he was, having to cozy up to the idea that _somehow,_ _he had been careless_ _enough_ _to alert the Bratva of his presence._  
  
He let out a heavy sigh, and allowed his eyes to fall closed.  
How long had he been in the car with these men? He couldn't be bothered to keep track. Under normal circumstances, he would've counted the minutes he was held captive. He would've taken note of every little detail, every word that was uttered by his captors. Would've studied the surroundings, given he wasn't blindfolded.  
Per his training, he should have Absorbed every bit of information around him.  
  
But this was no normal situation. He had been distracted, and as a result, had been overtaken _.  
_ And underneath it all, under the confusion and irritation, was a rock in his stomach.  
A hot, burning rock that he labeled Defeat.  
  
He scoffed at the word, _defeat._ A word he had used so many times before, in regards to his former agents, or his enemies. But to think that some day, he would be using that word to describe himself? Blasphemy. _Well, apparently not..._  
  
What was going to happen to him? So many options, so little time...  
Would he be killed? Most likely, yes. Tho, he had a feeling that it wouldn't be done right away. They wanted something from him; these people never did anything without a larger underlying plan.  
They would keep him alive until he was no longer of any use to them. But when they eventually decided that he was just taking up space...Well. Don't exactly need to spell it out.  
  
...But if he _did_ survive...If he managed to leave, where would he go? He would be compromised, and no longer welcomed back inside his Organization.  
_La Lionne doesn't exactly take kindly to_ _weak links_ _in the chain..._ _  
_ The thought of having no where to go made the knots in his stomach tighten, and his head turned to the side, to the cool glass of the window beside him.  
_La Lionne_ ran the smoothest business that Nicolas had encountered, treated it like a machine. With a strict policy of Who she kept around. Only people who worked efficiently. Nothing that would clog up the gears.  
And he had gotten an up close look at it throughout his entire life. It had been all he'd known for the longest time, being raised to serve, to protect himself, to be ruthless.  
  
At 9 years old, Nicolas' father had practically sold him off to the Matriarch of the _De Lioncourt_ clan, _“For a proper education,”_ were the words he had used.  
  
From the moment his father had left him there, standing in the doorway of _La Lionne's_ study with her hand on his small shoulder, the both of them watching his father's shrinking figure as he retreated down the long hallway, Nicolas had been one of them.  
  
Tho he never once referred to the Matriarch as Mother, or her husband as Father, he was raised as if he was their own blood. They taught him their own coded language, the amalgam of Italian and French that they spoke in their home, and when around individuals that had not earned their full trust.  
  
And despite being constantly surrounded by comfort, despite never knowing true hunger, Being raised by _La Lionne_ didn't allow Nicolas the time to grow up at a steady pace.  
  
At 10 years old, He had first witnessed her harrowing displeasure when a mission went south, noted how the blood had drained from the faces of the men who lined the room at her deafening silence.  
  
At 11, he had seen her slam an associate's face hard into a table, breaking his nose and cheekbone when he had presented her with an answer she had refused to accept.  
  
At 12, He had stood through the first of his many to come training sessions, watching the demonstration unfolding in front of him with awestruck brown eyes as _La Lionne's_ small but lithe figure flitted about the Dojo, demolishing multiple sandbags, and dislocated a man's arm without breaking a sweat.  
  
At 13, Nicolas had felt the last of his youth slip away as he watched a petrifying scene unfold, sitting crouched in front of a nearly closed set of office doors, with the slim frame of her youngest son leaning against him as they both stared and listened, eyes widening and skin paling.  
  
_Stay Quiet,_ repeated like a mantra in his head as he found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the image of _La Lionne_ leaning against her desk with a pistol in her hand, casually feeding rounds into it as her men held the struggling figure of her Husband down onto his knees in front of her.  
  
_Stay Quiet,_ the mantra sped up tenfold when he jolted as the pistol was was suddenly cocked and pointed at the Man's chest without hesitation, without any form of remorse painted on her expression; not a twitch in her eye contact as the man begged for her forgiveness, for her mercy that he was entirely undeserving of. Simply disappointment in her cold, calculating gray eyes.  
  
_Keep Him Quiet,_ Overshadowed his previous thoughts as he cradled Lestat's trembling form to his chest, as he rubbed the smaller boy's back as silent sobs wracked him, as his own eyes snapped closed and his head turned and hid in Golden curls as a trigger was pulled, as a sickening thud hit the floor. _  
  
  
_ He knew, deep down, that he would not be taken out. He hadn't committed treason like so many others, like the Patriarch had. However, the knowledge did nothing to calm the ache in his core.  
  
Dwelling on old memories wasn't going to help him when he was bound in the back of a car, it only served to make his bonds feel tighter, to give him phantom pain of ropes around his chest and neck; so he shook his head, and repeated a question to himself: How long had he been in the car with these men? _  
_~~_Hours._ _Maybe days?_~~ _No no, days was right._ _How long does it take to drive from Poland to Russia, anyway?_ Well, it was a start.  
_  
_ And _What_ had he learned about them? Not much concrete about the men themselves: The driver was well versed in tactics, the Younger was beautifully trained in Martial Arts. Nothing more. _  
  
_ Tho, He had settled on something.  
Only the fact that, in his less than ideal state, his best bet would be to lay low. He would struggle as little as possible, he would cooperate. ...For the most part. It wasn't the most appealing option, but until he figured out a game plan, it was his best bet. And he couldn't _Stand_ it.

He was so used to being one step ahead of everyone, even his captors on occasion, but that was the first time he had felt lost.  
  
_Learn as much about them as you can, use the knowledge against them_. It would take time, and did he have much of that? Who knew, but on the other hand, time was all he had. Complicated? Yes, but really, When was his life ever simple.  
  
Tho, before he could get pulled further into the vat of quicksand that was his ever suffocating brain, he was yanked back to his seat by the slamming of a car door, and shouts from outside in thick, Fluid Russian. _Y_ _ep, Bratva. Fuck._  
  
He must have fallen asleep during his reverie, because as he raised his head from the window and blinked a slight film from his eyes, he became suddenly aware that they were no longer driving down a Forest road, with the early morning sun rising in front of them.  
  
Quite the opposite; They were parked in a Garage.  
Well lit and industrial, Crates upon crates lining the walls, with countless cars sitting bumper to bumper. To an untrained eye, the placement of the objects would have been quite random.  
But Nicolas didn't miss the strategic way the crates were stacked, or what Perfect barricades the cars made.  
  
When the sharp smell of Tobacco hit his nose, his gaze shifted abruptly to the front of their vehicle, to see that the Driver still remained inside with him. Nicolas' eyes narrowed, picking him apart.  
The man was watching his accomplice with a calm, Amused expression, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, and the other was holding a cigarette to his mouth.  
  
He didn't look like anything special; His hair was a mess, and the fact that his glasses were so thick was a security risk just by itself.  
He seemed like the kind of man who was in a perpetual state of exhaustion, which wasn't ideal for their line of work.  
_...But, with how Nicolas had been acting for the last few months, he wasn't one to be throwing out judgment on that one._  


Tho, appearances were always deceiving.  
And the way he held himself with a silent confidence only helped to solidify the statement...Like he could take you out 50 different ways, and you wouldn't even feel it.  
This made Nicki shift in his seat, feeling a sense of unease wash over him for the first time since the whole ordeal started.  
_...Man,_ _I_ _need to get out more.  
  
_ Shaking his head in order to derail _that_ train of thought before it could get underway, Nicolas shifted his attention to the voices outside of the car.  
  
He listened intently to the familiar cadence of the Kid; Who was speaking steadily and confidently, and _Okay, maybe it's time to stop calling him Kid.  
  
__“He's impressed with how swiftly the mission went,”_ Stated the Newcomer, who's voice caused Nicolas to instinctively straighten his posture. The overlying tone was calm and sweet, there to lull you into a false sense of security, he knew from practicing it himself. But the authoritative bite to the words she spoke gave them the power to send chills down ones spine. _“_ _You arrived Two days ahead of schedule._ _Hah, You should be commended._ _”  
  
“We aren't Green, __Bianca_ _.”_ Came the Kid's measured response, irritation leaving an obvious tint on his voice.  
  
An amused hum came from the woman, _Bianca_ , he had called her.  
  
_“No, indeed you are not.”_ The voices lowered then, to whispers as they began to walk, two sets of expensive heels clicking against the hard concrete floor at a leisurely pace, growing closer with each passing second.  
He could see their silhouettes stop in front of the car door across from where he was seated, and anticipation began to crawl through his veins.  
  
“May I?” Bianca inquired in English, as Nicolas heard her grip the handle of the door, tugging it open after Denis stepped back with a soft, “But of course.”  
  
Very suddenly, Nicki found himself captivated by a pair of Steel gray eyes, seemingly keeping him paralyzed as their owner took him in, read him like a book.

He found it difficult to look away from her heart-shaped face, or the golden hair that was pulled into a tight, manageable bun.  
  
Bianca stood in the open car doorway in silence, her soft frame perfectly still, the only movement being the slight up and down of her shoulders as she took in air.  
  
She was gorgeous, a vision even as she stood there in the Harsh lighting of the garage.  
_She could kill me with her little finger.  
  
_ And when she smiled, the movement never reached her eyes and _Oh,_ that was terrifying.  
“You've done very well, Denis. Didn't damage him Too badly,” She remarked in that harsh but honeyed voice, turning back to the kid. _..._ _Denis, huh?_ _That'd explain the nickname._ _  
_ “The Boss wants to see him.”  
  
The driver whistled as he unbuckled himself, stepping out of the car as he lit a fresh cigarette. “So he really is serious about this, Huh?” He asked, opening Nicolas' door.  
  
... _Serious about What._ He mused, his eyes narrowing. _  
_ There was a surprisingly firm, yet gentle hand on his arm that pulled him from his seat, into a standing position before he could let his mind wander again. And from there, the Driver pulled him over to the other two. _Well then, he was stronger than he looked._  
  
“When Isn't he serious?” Bianca asked, hands folded behind her back. The question was answered by shrugs from both men, and with that, the Petite woman turned on her heels, and lead them out of the garage. Turning her head over her shoulder as she walked, she made eye contact with The Driver. “And no matter how fond of you he is, do you Really think it's wise to question the Pakhan?”  
  
A huff of laughter escaped from between the Blonde man's lips, but he did not respond. He simply raised a golden eyebrow at her, which seemed to be answer enough for Bianca, who heaved a sigh and looked ahead once more.  
  
She continued to speak to them, filling them in on what they'd missed and things of that nature, but Nicki wasn't focusing on the flood of words, and he probably should have been.  
For if he Had been listening, he would have heard about Trade deals, both that went through and that had gone sour.  
But no, he was memorizing the hallways they passed through.  
The staircases, the elevators, of which there were many.  
Alright, so the garage was underground.  
Convenient, he supposed. Tho, not exactly practical for an escape.  
It was most likely designed for such a purpose, and he had to admire that.  
The hallways were winding, going from Wide to narrow, and back again. Art covered almost every all he passed, portraits, still-lives and landscapes, varying in styles. Some were abstract, others were classical. The Landscapes drew him in, with the rolling hills that almost seemed like one could get lost in.  
  
As they walked higher and higher, the Paintings grew larger. Some were bigger than the windows they were hung next to, and the smaller ones seemingly paled in comparison.  
If he had been in any other situation, he would have paused to inspect them closer. But, being lead down hallways by his captors kind of put a damper on that idea.  
  
  
By the time they reached the Large, oak Double Doors of what he could only assume was a Study, he was in the process of putting together a mental map of the place.  
Well, of the Small part he had been through, anyway.  
If, for any reason he needed to escape, he'd remember which way to go. But, for a number of reasons, plotting an Escape wasn't a top priority. One reason being that he needed information. About why he had been taken, about What they wanted from him.  
And another reason being that they hadn't bothered to blindfold him while leading him up from the Garage. They had put their entire base on Display for him...The _Bratva_ weren't exactly the type to get Cocky, so it must have been part of a plan.

  
He was reminded of their location when he heard a sharp sequence of knocks. _Two, then Two, then One._ Bianca had been the one to knock, and gracefully, her hand fell back to her side.  
  
It took a moment for a response, tho Nicolas could hear murmurs from inside, along with Footsteps, tho they weren't headed in the direction of the door.  
“Enter.” Came the cool, clipped voice from behind the doors.  
  
He noticed a change of posture occur in his handlers, Save for Bianca. Instead, to Nicki's surprise, a _smile_ spread across her face.  
Denis and the Driver's ( _Daniel, he heard Bianca call him during their walk)_ shoulders squared, and their backs straightened.  
Bianca reached out, fingers wrapping around the ornate, brass door handles as she pulled opened both of the doors, Entering the study with an almost...Casual stride.  
  
Denis entered after, and finally so did Daniel, pulling Nicki along with him, who felt as if he'd hit a Wall as soon as he stepped over the threshold. The image in front of him filling him with a clawing sense of alarm.  
  
The shock he felt didn't come due to the Size of the room, or the fact that it looked more like an Art exhibit than an office, or that most of the walls were littered with gunshots. No, no, nothing as mundane as that.  
  
It was the scene in the center of the room which made his eyebrows shoot up, that caused the voice in his mind to start writhing, to start alerting him of how Unnaturally calm the air was in the room.  
  
  
In the middle of the floor, was placed a Large mahogany desk. A gorgeously carved piece.  
And on that desk, sat perched as if he were a fixture built into the furniture beneath him, was a man. He could hardly be called a Man, honestly, he barely looked 20. With his petite frame, and face that looked eerily like those old Greek paintings of Cherubs: Full lips, rounded cheeks... His skin was lightly tanned, with freckles dotting over his high cheekbones, leaving trails down his neck where they disappeared beneath the collar of his dress shirt.  
The eyes, _Ohh,_ Nicki could feel the eyes on him. The large brown, nearly black irises with curling lashes protecting them, watched him with Unmatched intensity.  
  
Auburn hair adorned his head, and the way it he had styled it did indeed help add maturity to his features, The tight ponytail he had it pulled into.  
He wore a variety of Blues, from his Tie down to his slacks.  
Slender hands rested on his knees, and his posture was chillingly perfect.  
  
And behind that man, in a chair that looked more like a Throne, was who Nicki decided to be the man behind all of this, this Pakhan that he had heard much tell about, both from his captors and from his own research throughout the years.  
He was leaning back, hands folded in his lap.  
His cobalt blue eyes regarded his visitors with a deadly calmness, one that Nicolas was quite familiar with. It never failed to send chills down his entire body.  
White Blonde hair lay splayed over his shoulders and chest, standing out boldly against his Red dress shirt.  
His face looked like it had been carved out of marble, with his high cheekbones and seemingly ageless skin.  
  
But, in front of that desk, in front of the two men who made Nicolas' skin crawl, were the cherries on the cake. The source of his vast discomfort, the reason that his mind was telling him that he was Invading something very private, that he Truly, did not belong.  
  
Children. Two small children, the youngest probably being no older than Four, while the eldest looked closer to 10. They were hugging a dog. A fully grown Bull Mastiff with some white starting on his muzzle, who laid patiently on the floor. A girl and a boy, both dressed Beautifully in Silks and velvets. The boy's skin was a soft shade of brown, complimented by Curly black hair, and hazel eyes which stared quizzically up at the Newcomers.  
The girl next to him was in stark contrast, her skin pale with golden waves of hair that rested on her shoulders. Her eyes held a distinct alertness that shocked Nicolas, and he noted the way one of her hands shifted to the boy's shoulder in a protective gesture, her gaze flickering from Nicki's gaunt figure to the young man at the desk, who gave her a small nod before her slight frame relaxed.  
  
  
There was a twisting feeling in Nicki's stomach, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so _very_ unsettled. It was just that...The four of them, all sitting together, made it look so very...Domestic.  
For a moment, it made him forget that without a doubt, there were weapons stashed throughout the study. Under the desk, in the drawers, most likely in the fucking couch.  
_And that little boy was none the wiser. What was it like, the blissful innocence he thrived in?_  
  
“I'm terribly sorry if we interrupted, Sir,” Bianca was the one to break the silence, and she seemed to be the most relaxed about this, as she coolly approached the desk.  
_She must_ _be connected to the men_ _..._  
“But you requested to see Him as soon as they arrived.” As she said this last sentence, she was kneeling down onto the rug next to the two children.  
_And just when Nicolas thought his eyebrows couldn't climb any higher,_ the Girl let go of her gentle grip on her Brother's shoulder, and instead took the outstretched hand that Bianca offered. There were whispered words exchanged between them, a gentle smile bloomed across the girl's face as she nodded, and gracefully rose into a standing position along side the taller woman, already holding herself like Denis was, with stoic confidence and squared shoulders.  
_..._ _Holy Shit.  
  
_ Nicolas was terrified to as much as _look_ at the children the wrong way, and there Bianca was, kneeling down and comforting the girl as if they were family. _...Godmother, most likely._  
  
“You did not interrupt, Bianca.” Came a Smooth, Bell like voice from the man on the Desk. His voice held such Importance, such Merit, for a moment Nicolas thought...No, no he couldn't be...He was too young.  
_But then again,_ when his Sharp eyes returned Nicki and looked him over slowly, seemingly picking every inch of him apart, he began questioning his previous Assumption of Who was in charge.  
  
Especially when the Older Man's eyes shifted to the man in front of him, a curious expression playing across his face, his golden eyebrows raising. It was as if the Younger could feel the gaze on him, because when he turned and exchanged glances with the blonde, it Clicked in Nicki's head.  
_..._ _So. The Blonde's the trophy husband. Didn't see that coming.  
  
_ “You can let go of his arm, Daniel, I don't think he's going anywhere.” Came that sweet voice again, Slim frame shifting elegantly as his feet hit the floor, and he removed himself from the desk in one flowing movement.  
  
“Sure thing, Boss.” And the firm hand dropped from his arm, Daniel stepping away from him, joining Denis at his place closer to the door.  
  
But even then, Nicki's eyes didn't leave the smaller man that was watching him, reading him like a book, and that had him shifting from foot to foot.  
_Seriously, could you Blink...??_  
  
And when they broke eye contact, that feeling of Unease was back, because the man was kneeling down next to the Little Boy who was still sitting happily on the floor, petting the large dog that was dozing.  
  
The boy looked up, innocent eyes gleaming as a gentle hand reached out, and fixed his unruly curls, a tender smile spreading across his...Father's...face.

  
“ _маленький человек,_ why don't you go with your Sister and тетя Bianca, Hm?” His tone was suddenly so Gentle, so caring...like that child was his whole world. _And he probably Was..._  
  
After the little boy had nodded excitedly, a quiet chuckle came from Bianca, and she held her free hand out to him, the Girl at her side motioning for her brother to follow them. “Common, Benji.”  
_..._ _It all seemed Far too calm, too natural, and he didn't know Why.  
He had been raised in a similar environment...  
  
_ The smaller man returned to a standing position once Bianca had left the study, his arms folding over his chest, an eyebrow raised as he watched Nicki with those Cold eyes again.  
“Now, Nicolas,” He started, and _Yep,_ _that was the voice of a Pakhan_ _._  
“Let's talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...*weak jazz hands* tADAAAA  
>  I Hope you all liked it, and I really hope it was worth the wait! (SORRY ABOUT THAT BY THE WAY)
> 
> Trophy husband Marius? Yes, that was a necessity. 
> 
>  
> 
> Stay tuned for another installment of this rollercoaster!! Love Yall <3
> 
>  
> 
> *Cracks knuckles* Translations, yo
> 
>  
> 
> маленький человек - little man/small man. 
> 
> тетя - Aunt.


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